Lead
by Twist
Summary: Sort of sequel to Diplomatic Piracy. Vetinari's looking for a new first mate, and he's got rum. Old acquaintances emerge with hilarious results. Everyone loves a bad pirate who's good at his job. Strong T rating for language and alcohols!


Diplomatic Piracy 1.5: Lead

Disclaimer: Not mine, thanks. I'm either ripping off Gore Verbinski or Terry Pratchett, so talk to them.

Author's Note: Lady Twatterby, this is for you.

--

Captain Havelock Vetinari was, by no means, a softhearted kind of person. He was a renowned pirate captain from Krull to Ting Ling, and everywhere in between. Before that, he had been a sort of wandering watchmaker, learning or perhaps practicing how to swindle good, honest people out of their good, honest money. And, of course, before that he had been the apparently ruthless and iron-fisted ruler of Ankh-Morpork, though he preferred to be remembered as the man who broke the city's trend of having deeply psychotic men as ruler. No, Vetinari was not a kind-hearted man by any stretch of the imagination – he _was_ cold, calculating, haughty and more than a little selfish.

Regardless, however, of all these things, when your crew starts looking at you, and one another, and the ocean like _that_, a wise captain will choose to dock somewhere – anywhere – to let them eat, sleep a full night, find a woman and whatever else needed attending to. It was only healthy, Vetinari knew, for a human to be on a ship for a certain length of time, after which you start getting into messy problems, like suicides and mutinies.

Right now, his crew was starting to look like that – the drawn, nervous expression of men too long away from the familiar comforts of land. So Vetinari decided that since they were a mere hour's sail from Kythia, it would perhaps be in all their best interests to stop in the little sailing port.

Besides, he was currently without a first mate of any sort. Mary-Anna had left months back, deciding instead to run off with an aspiring barbarian hero closer to her age. Vetinari had yet to replace her, figuring that when the person came along, he would know, and until then it was better to not rush into things. He hoped to find that man in Kythia, though he reflected that he should perhaps wait until they returned to Krull, where the people seemed to be somewhat pre-disposed to piracy. But no matter, Krull would be their next stop if he didn't find whoever he was looking for in Kythia.

They were able to dock the ship without incident, and the crew vanished shortly after everything was seen to. Vetinari figured they'd remain here for about a week – plenty of time for the crew to recover and not enough time for anyone to arrest them. He walked around his ship, double-checking that everything was properly tied down and put away, and then left, to wander the town, find a drink and, hopefully, his next first mate.

--

Of course, nothing is ever as easy as anyone thinks it will be. Havelock Vetinari knew that full well, and that was why he was not frustrated after spending five days roaming Kythia in search of a new first mate. Of course there were plenty of good sailors to be had, no question, but not one of them was good at organization. None of them had that burning desire to make all things right and alphabetical, and while Vetinari certainly didn't need some sort of filing genius, he did need someone with minimal management and organizational skills. Anyone could learn to be a good sailor, he reasoned, but not everyone had the sort of brain for what the captain was looking for.

He returned to the harbor one evening after a long day of lying, inexplicably invisible, on the roof of an elderly woman's house and watching people go by. He hadn't done that sort of thing for a very long time, and had missed it, a little. Anyway, while he never did find what he was looking for he did get a chance to take a nap in the cool autumn sun on a roof more comfortable than many he could recall. Overall, it hadn't been a terrible way to waste his time.

He decided to grab something to eat at the harbor tavern before returning to his ship to sleep. Despite the changes he had made since leaving the office of Patrician, and loosing most of his Assassin's tricks to almost constant intoxication, he was still able to go unnoticed by most people in public venues. So Vetinari quietly slipped in the tavern and made his way to the bar, where he asked the barman to bring him whatever tasted best under eight dollars. He also ordered a bottle of rum, which he sipped at lightly while he waited.

The tavern was not really crowded. There were people there, but there were open spots at the bar and people at tables were able to carry on conversations without shouting over the usual tavern din. The pirate glanced around surreptitiously and took a sip of rum. No one in particular seemed to catch his attention, so he turned back to the bar, where the barman had just unceremoniously dumped a plate of what may have been, possibly, some kind of cooked beef with a side of chips. He ate it, whatever it was, and it didn't taste too bad, really, once you got over not knowing what part of the cow it came from.

He finished he beef and about half the chips and paid, but opted to stay at the bar and keep drinking his rum. He didn't really feel like retuning to his ship quite yet, though he was unsure as to why. So he sat, sipping slowly at his drink, plate of half-eaten chips in front of him, and watched the other patrons of the tavern.

A sudden jab to the ribs took him somewhat by surprise. It was by no means a hostile sort of jab, but it was sudden and unexpected nonetheless. Vetinari spun, blue eyes narrowed, to face his offender. He managed – despite possibly every recognition synapse in his brain firing madly – to maintain that expression when he saw just who the offender was.

"Are young going to eat that?" asked the young man, pointing to the plate of chips sitting on the bar. He was slouched over the bar, apparently quite drunk. His glasses were hanging off one ear, and his necktie was askew.

"No," said Vetinari expressionlessly. He cautiously pushed the chips toward the young man, trying to observe all he could, looking for old habits he knew would be there, no matter how long it had been. He watched the young man eat for a while, and then finally asked, "What's your name, boy?"

He tried to look like he didn't care, sipping on his rum after he asked. The young man hardly looked up, wolfing down the chips like he hadn't seen decent food in ages.

"Doesn't matter," said the fair-haired man between mouthfuls.

"I think it does, considering you're eating food I paid for."

The young man looked up sharply, eyes narrowed. "Fine," he spat, wavering uneasily on his stool. "Rufus Drumknott."

"Hmph," said Vetinari, noncommittally. So it _was_ Drumknott. Well, he'd looked better, but then so had they all. "What line of work you in, Rufus?" he asked innocently. No use taking risks quite yet.

"None of your business," the former clerk said, looking forlornly at the empty plate. Vetinari cocked and eyebrow and shook his bottle, causing the rum inside to slosh around noisily. Drumknott eyed it, thinking.

"Not in any line of work right now," he muttered, finally. "'S hard, finding work when your bastard of a boss up and left without writing any references and no one believes you about working for him."

"Hmph." Vetinari felt a slight twinge of guilt at that. Of course, he _had_ been bloody exiled. It wasn't as if the first thing on his mind was whether or not Drumknott was going to need letters of reference. "Rum?" he asked.

"Absolutely," said the younger man. He snatched the bottle away from the pirate and drank straight from it. Vetinari made a face, and when the former clerk pushed it back toward him he held up a hand.

"Er, keep it, please." He watched as Drumknott looked from him to the bottle, and then took another deep drink. "Who did you work for?" he asked at length, watching Drumknott carefully. The young man scowled and gulped down another mouthful of rum.

"You know that . . . that bastard? That, that bastard of a boss down in Ankh-Morpork? Never wrote references. I was his _head clerk_, which means I was the best."

"Who are you talking about?" asked Vetinari. Of course, at this point he was just fooling around with the young man, bewildering him a little, partially because it was fun and partially because he wanted Drumknott too off-guard to hit him when he finally told the poor man that he was, in fact, the bastard who had never written him references.

"That bloody Patrician, Veti – Vet – You know. Bastard. Not one reference! Not a single bloody _scrap_ of paper to prove it!"

Vetinari, in the mean time, had slid a bottle of rum out from underneath the bar, unbeknownst to the bartender. He drank it reflectively, staring off into space. "Why didn't you acquire proof?" he asked at last, quietly. "Surely you had access to all my files."

Drumknott froze and turned, slowly, unsteadily. He straightened his glasses and lowered the bottle of rum. Then, finally, he managed to stutter out "How did you find me?"

"I wasn't looking for you," Vetinari answered. "Total coincidence."

"Hah!" The young man tipped back a mouthful of rum. "Never any coincidences with you," he said. "Not one. Nope! Never."

"As you like," Vetinari replied, rolling his eyes and shrugging. "Drumknott, what ever brought you to this? Surely you could have found work elsewhere, references or not."

"Hah! Right." He took another pull of rum and set the bottle down on the bar. "No, you see, the thing is, erm. The thing. Well, it's. Yes." He took a moment to gather his thoughts, and then plowed on. "No one believed me, at least not enough to – to hire me. You know? But they _did_ believe me, a little. They were scared."

"Scared?"

"They didn', didn' want to have _you_ show up, ever. Bad news, you know."

Vetinari raised an eyebrow and sipped his rum. "Surely I wasn't 'bad news' from the moment I walked out the gate."

"Hah! Yes, yes you were. Bad for relations with Ankh-Morpork. No one wants that."

"Ah." Vetinari paused. "So you've been doing this since the whole exile fiasco? Pursuing your life's goal to be a drunk?"

"You're a bloody pirate!"

"At least I have a job," Vetinari sighed. "Listen Drumknott, neither of us is in the position to be ridiculing one another. I have an offer to make you."

Drumknott turned away abruptly, drinking deeply from his rum. Vetinari stood and slid around in front of him, rum bottle re-corked and stowed in a pocket. "Don't be unreasonable about this, Drumknott. This could turn out to be a very profitable enterprise for you."

"I'm not working for you," Drumknott said, arms crossed. He spun back around, so that his back was facing Vetinari and stared resolutely at the wall

The pirate sighed and pushed his hat back. Then, pinching the bride of his nose and trying to massage away a rapidly growing headache, he said "Just have a little more of _my_ rum, Drumknott, and we'll see how you are in a little while."

The clerk said nothing. Vetinari watched him carefully for a moment, and then swaggered off to a table in the corner. He could wait. He had all the time in the world.

--

Three hours and half a bottle of rum later, Vetinari re-approached Drumknott. The man had started on an almost manic drinking binge after his conversation with his former boss, and now was half-unconscious, slumped across the bar.

"So, how's life, Drummers?" asked Vetinari, collapsing onto the stool next to the man.

"Go 'way . . ."

"Mm, thought you would say something like that," Vetinari said lightly. "Let's try the part where I offer you a job and a chance not to be a drunken vagrant again. Drunken sailors get so many more ladies."

"Sailor?" Drumknott asked weakly. "Boats?"

"Yes," Vetinari said, leaning over so that he was closer to the poor man. "Lots of boats, Drumknott. Boats and rum and gold, all together."

"Rum and gold . . ."

"Yes," said Vetinari softly, leaning in close enough that he was sure no one else could hear him. "Drumknott, piracy is, while not exactly legal, it's a whole hell of a lot better than laying around in taverns, drunk off your ass."

"Hahaha . . ."

Vetinari sighed. "Drumknott, yes or no? I need a first mate and at least I know what I can't trust you with." He wrestled the man's almost-empty bottle of rum from him, corked it, and pocketed it.

Drumknott stared reflectively at the bar top, eyes unfocused. "This ish, ish your plan? Right?"

"Drumknott I had no plan at all. I just left, as fast as I could, because otherwise I would have died."

"Sho you didn't want this?"

"No, Drumknott. Why would I have wanted this? I _wanted_ to stay Patrician and retire and go on to . . . I don't know, write books or something. And I bloody well didn't _want_ you to end up drunk in a tavern with nowhere to go." He bit his lip suddenly, as though realizing he'd said a bit too much. Drumknott looked up, and seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

"Liar," he spat, finally.

"Maybe," Vetinari replied neutrally. "Whatever the case, Drumknott, I would like to go back to my ship so I need an answer, if you would be so kind."

Drumknott's brow furrowed and his lips pursed. Absently, he reached for the bottle of rum in Vetinari's coat pocket. Just as absently, the captain swatted the other man's hand away. "Fine, I'll do it," Drumknott said finally. "But not becaush, becaush I _like_ you. It'sh becaush I have – whaddayahcallit . . ."

"I think I get the point, Drumknott," Vetinari said, allowing himself a small smirk. "And now, I think it would be best if you started sleeping this off. I do believe some Klatchian coffee may be in order in the morning, as well."

"Can't walk . . ." said the other man muzzily.

"I didn't expect you to be able to. You did five shots of Nothingfjord's Finest, Drumknott. _No one_ does that and walks afterwards." Gingerly, Vetinari reached an arm under the shorter man's shoulders and got him tentatively to his feet. "Just follow my lead," he muttered. And with that, the two of them staggered out the door.

--

Vetinari would never admit it, but his leg did actually bother him, especially in the damp and as he got older. He managed to deal with it, certainly, but on the other hand he wasn't accustomed to dragging semi-conscious former clerks around town. The fact that rain clouds were rolling in off the ocean only made it worse.

He did realize the comedy in the situation, but only slightly through his irritation. They probably made quite a sight, staggering through the early-morning streets. Drumknott was moving his legs in a vaguely walking-like motion, but he was for the most part, ineffective. Vetinari himself was also somewhat drunk, and his leg hurt, so altogether is was quite a challenge to keep the two of them upright and moving forward. Straight lines, Vetinari had decided a while back, were far too ambitious.

There was a dark figure up ahead, lurking. Vetinari hoped desperately the figure wouldn't try to mug them because he really just wanted to get home, and really didn't feel like killing anyone right at the moment. As they drew closer, however, he saw that it was a watchman. Which was . . . better, right?

He tried to concentrate on looking straight ahead and minding his own business. Maybe the man wouldn't think there was anything suspicious. Yup, nothing to see here, just an ex-politician-turned-pirate dragging his drunken former clerk down the alley, nothing uncommon at all.

"Excuse me, sirs?"

Vetinari almost sighed. This was worse than a mugger. Much more persistent and much, much more annoying. He turned, straightened as much was physically possible, and raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you?"

"Sir may I ask what the two of you are doing at this hour?" The officer was addressing them in rough Genuan, which Vetinari thankfully spoke nearly fluently. Drumknott did too, but hopefully the young man was too drunk at the moment to follow along.

Vetinari bit back the urge to ask the twerp what it bloody well looked like they were doing, settling instead on "Going home, officer."

"Sir, are you aware of Kythia's policy towards public drunkenness?"

This was not happening. "No, officer," Vetinari said tightly. "I've simply stopped here on business."

"Well, then, let me tell you," the officer said, sneering most unpleasantly. "It constitutes both a fine of a minimum AM$75 and a two-night jail stay. Then you will see a judge for your civil hearing, where further punishment will be decided on."

"That's a bit harsh, isn't it?" Vetinari asked, smirking. "And anyway, I, officer, am sober. I am simply helping a friend home after he tragically lost control of himself at the local tavern."

"Completely sober?" asked the officer. Much quicker than Vetinari could have anticipated, he snatched the nearly empty bottle of rum out of the pirate's coat. "Care to explain this? And don't tell me you always talk like that, I'm not stupid."

"It's his," Vetinari said, starting to get exasperated. This was ridiculous; he didn't need this right now. And besides, now his back was starting to object. He briefly considered dropping Drumknott but decided against it.

"What's your name, sir?"

"Jack Sparrow," said Vetinari instantly. It was one of his secondary aliases – you always needed a variety for matters just such as these.

"And your friend?"

"He's –"

"Rufus Drumknott!" said Drumknott suddenly, before slumping back into unconsciousness. "'N don' you . . . thingummy, f'rget it . . ."

Vetinari allowed himself a small wince. Perfect. Wonderful. Now the officer knew one of their actual names and if Vetinari had been judging his accent correctly . . .

"Rufus Drumknott?" the officer asked, taken aback. "Lord Vetinari's head clerk?" The officer switched languages suddenly; sliding out of the Genuan he had been conducting the interview in and into perfectly fluent Morporkian. "Really?" He turned his glare to Vetinari, who was trying to fight the urge to drop Drumknott and run. "Listen pal, I grew up in Ankh-Morpork and if he's playing games with me, I'm gonna know."

"He isn't," Vetinari said shortly. "And if you're from Ankh-Morpork, then I assume you trained under Mr. Vimes?"

"Here, not anyone can call him that –"

"Officer," Vetinari said quietly, leveling the Stare on the younger man, "I can assure you that the Commander would not mind."

Realization washed over the officer's face. Then, making sure, he pulled out an old penny. Vetinari rolled his eyes as the man made a quick comparison. "Bloody hell," he said softly.

"Quite."

"Well, erm, wow . . . Imagine seeing, er . . ." he trailed off, realizing that this was an extremely awkward way to meet one's former ruler. "Well."

"Officer," Vetinari said calmly, "I appreciate your concern for the citizens of your town. However, and take no offense at this, there is only one person whose arrest I will not resist and that is Commander Vimes'. And trust me, you don't want me to resist arrest. It's usually a messy affair."

"Absolutely, sir," the officer said. "Um, I suppose you can go on, so sorry . . . Erm."

"Right," said Vetinari, elbowing Drumknott awake. "Oh, and officer . . . Delerish, is it?"

"Yessir?"

"If you ever, _ever_ mention this to anyone, I will kill you. Just so you know."

"Yessir!" The officer saluted sharply. "Good luck with the pirating, sir!"

Vetinari merely gave the boy a blank look before continuing down the street, staggering as little as possible. He hoped he didn't look as bad as he felt. But he seriously doubted it.

--

Drumknott woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar place with a splitting headache and a roaring hangover. Not that this was an unusual experience these days. With as little movement as possible, he straightened his glasses and took stock of his surroundings.

He was . . . in a ship? Yes, a ship. Lying in a hammock in the belly of a ship. Well, that wasn't so bad – at least hammocks were supposed to be slept in. Now, as far as the ship. He must have arranged this somehow, if he could only recall whom it had been with. Someone he'd known before . . .

Oh. Yes. Him.

Wincing slightly, Drumknott rolled out of the hammock and unsteadily got to his feet. The boat was rocking very slightly, so it was probably still in the harbor. Hopefully. Light shone down through the hatch that led to the upper deck. There was also no one in sight and, by the sound of it, no one on deck either. The boat was almost dead silent.

Of course, Drumknott had learned from experience, that was indicative of nothing.

He made his way to the deck, squinting and holding a hand up to shield his eyes from the light. His head was pounding, and he realized now that going back below deck might be a good idea. But, no, he had to get off the boat. He'd made a poor decision, and there was still time to go back on it.

Except for the part where there wasn't. The ship, while still, technically, in the harbor, was not moored by the docks. It was simply sitting out in the water, drifting. Or maybe there was an anchor out, Drumknott wasn't really sure.

And then there was the whole question of Vetinari. The man was leaning against the helm of the ship, flask in hand, watching Drumknott like a tiger watches its prey. Drumknott swallowed and, against all instinct, made his way toward the other man. Vetinari, as though disappointed by this decision, promptly lost interest.

"Good morning, sir," Drumknott said carefully. "Er, is this your ship?"

"At the moment."

"Erm," Drumknott rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"Have some coffee," said Vetinari shortly, shoving a flask in Drumknott's face.

"Er, thank you?" Drumknott took the flask, carefully inspected the mouthpiece for any suspicious-looking oils or barbs, and, finding nothing unusual, took a hesitant sip. Almost immediately, his eyes began to water and he coughed violently. His nasal passages felt remarkably clear.

"It's got wasabi in it," said Vetinari, by way of explanation. "Gives it something of an extra kick, as it were."

Drumknott watched the man carefully. He was . . . indisputably, Vetinari, only wearing ridiculous clothing and eyeliner. And, by the sound of it, he was completely sober at the moment. That wasn't saying he wasn't planning on remedying the situation: there was a half-full bottle of rum sticking out of one of his coat pockets.

Finally, feeling like the silence was just too much, Drumknott hesitantly spoke up. "Erm, where's the rest of the crew, sir?"

"Oh, somewhere in town. They'll be back tomorrow." He gave Drumknott a sidelong glance. "You're wondering why I've put the ship out in the middle of the harbor?"

"Yes, I suppose."

Vetinari smirked. "Of course you are. I've anchored out here, Drumknott, because that is an awfully long swim to face first thing in the morning with a hangover."

_Ah, of course,_ thought Drumknott. _There's always a choice. But there's always a very clear wrong one_.

"And supposing I choose to take this coffee and go anyway?" He knew this argument was futile – he'd known Vetinari too long to think he had the upper hand on the man's own territory – but he was hoping the man was just as hung-over and maybe had something of a headache.

"Your choice," replied the captain, noncommittally. "Just don't flail too much – attracts sharks, you know."

Drumknott scowled and drank some more coffee, fighting back the urge to gag. Certainly it was helping him wake up, but it really wasn't doing much for the headache. Quite the opposite, really. "So I suppose you're happy now," he muttered.

Vetinari grinned a little, giving Drumknott pause. He almost looked, well . . . serene. Which was unusual. "Yes," he said at length. "Yes, I rather think I am."

There was a pause, in which Drumknott thought about what his boss had just said and Vetinari simply watched two seagulls fight over a fish carcass.

"You know, Drumknott," said Vetinari suddenly, "happiness is sort of . . . weird. Humans are constantly seeking it, and they find it in the last place they look."

"Obviously sir," sniped Drumknott. "Why keep looking for something you've already found?"

Vetinari rolled his eyes, almost imperceptibly. "Very clever. Regardless, Drumknott, I would like to point out that you have yet to find happiness since the whole . . . Morporkian incident. Why?"

"Because I've been an unemployed drunk," the former clerk responded sullenly.

"When was the last time you _were_ happy?"

_Ah, there it is_, thought Drumknott crossly. _The million-dollar question. And the bastard knows the answer, too. He just wants to hear me admit it_.

"Working in Ankh-Morpork, sir," he snapped. "You _knew_ that."

"Right," Vetinari smirked. "So why turn down any chance to get it back?"

"Because, I don't know, I hate you. There is that."

"Really?"

"Right now."

"Aha!" Vetinari spun on the shorter man, smiling smugly. "But you didn't always, Drumknott."

"Well of course not, you paid me well and were fair for the most part." Drumknott paused. "Once I got over the fact that you were a raging workaholic insomniac with a tendency to materialize out of thin air, you weren't terribly awful."

"Excellent!" Vetinari said. "Very good. And I am happy to continue being exactly that except for a few minor changes. Honestly, Drumknott, this offer is too good to turn down, _admit it_."

Drumknott looked at Vetinari suspiciously. "What changes?"

"I can assure you, Drumknott, that I no longer materialize out of thin air," he said, pulling the bottle of rum out and waving it in the sunlight, "due to my now raging alcoholism."

"Pull the other one, it's got bells on," Drumknott smirked, sipping at his coffee.

"Alright, so I can stop anytime I want to, that's not the point." He popped the cork on the rum and took a drink. "The point is; this is an offer that you, quite simply, cannot refuse."

"And supposing I do?"

"Then you're shark bait."

"Difficult decision," Drumknott said, though he was smiling. "Fine. I'll work for you one more time. But this goes down the tubes and I'm gone, no questions asked."

"Oh there are always questions, Drumknott. But odds are that if this goes down the tubes I'll be dead. Pirates don't get exiled, they get executed."

"This is true," Drumknott said, handing the flask back and pulling his own flask out of his pocket. Vetinari snatched it away. "That's mine!"

"You are not done sobering up," Vetinari responded seriously. "I will not sail with a drunk crew. Except that one time."

"But the crew will sail with a drunk captain?"

"Captains are fairly useless anyhow, any bloody idiot can read a map." Vetinari pocketed the flask and took the helm. "The crew's waiting for when we get back."

"I thought you said we were leaving tomorrow!"

"I lied." He raised an eyebrow at Drumknott's outraged expression.

"Well that's hardly fair!"

Vetinari flashed a smile. "Pirate, remember?" He spun the wheel, the wind caught the sail and it swung around at an insane rate of speed. Vetinari ducked under the boom, Drumknott did not. The first mate was knocked overboard. Shortly after plunging into the harbor he resurfaced, spluttering and outraged, but being very careful not to flail. Vetinari moved the ship once more so that the sail went slack and leaned casually over the railing.

"Sharks!" Drumknott said, trying to be quiet despite his panic. "What about sharks?"

"There aren't any sharks this close to shore, don't be silly. Whales, maybe."

"You bloody pirate!" howled the former clerk, flailing at the hull of the ship. "Why am I in the water in the first place! This was on purpose!"

"Of course it was," Vetinari replied, pausing to have a drink of rum. "You needed sobering up. I daresay it worked."

"Bloody well right it did!"

"You also smelled."

Drumknott glowered. "Fine. This is some sort of initiation ritual, isn't it? Well, I'm initiated, and it was very funny, now help me back on."

"No really, you smelled like the privies behind the Drum."

"Just let me back on the ship." A rope was thrown over the side. Drumknott managed to climb up and onto the deck. He wrung out his tie with as much dignity as he could while Vetinari went back to the helm and started swinging the ship around toward the harbor.

"Are you going to try anything else?" Drumknott asked warily, removing his shoes and pouring seawater out of them.

"No, Drumknott. I did forget to give you the oath, though." He paused, apparently trying to remember the oath. "Hm, Drumknott, do you have the courage and fortitude to stay true and fight even in the face of almost certain death?"

"What?"

"Just say yes, makes life easier for all of us."

"Erm, yes, I suppose."

"Good! Then we're square." He pulled a compass and a map out of a pocket and examined both of them at length.

"Where are we going?" Drumknott asked, making his way back up to the helm. Vetinari had put the map and compass back and was steering to the docks.

Vetinari smiled and shrugged. "Wherever the business takes us, Drumknott. Just follow my lead."

END

ish.

--

Author's Note Numero Dos: OK, so in case you haven't got it at this point, this is the beginning to a sequel to Diplomatic Piracy. Right now, I am updating only on my livejournal, which I linked to in my author profile. Toddle on over if you want more. Granted, you have to find it first, but it's there.

Oh yah, and review plz. That would be super.


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